


One Cold Night

by yuletide_archivist



Category: MASH (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-12
Updated: 2004-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold winter night, a visitor makes a visit to the 4077th.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Cold Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Rae

 

 

Author's Notes: My first foray into this fandom. For Rae.

' _Dear Sigmund,_  
Well, despite my better judgement and with an optimism that has proven totally unfounded, I have decided to risk another trip out to the 4077 tonight. The poker game has not been officially cancelled (Although the army grapevine suggests that it is unlikely to go ahead) and I find myself once again drawn to this place.

I don't know what to expect. I have been too busy to attend the poker game for the last month and weeks of dealing with the more subtle wounds of war have left me wondering more than once if there truly is any point to patching these men up, only to send them out again. I find it almost cathartic to come here where the wounded are in such need and the doctors and nurses who fight for every life with a passion that restores my faith in humanity...'

Major Sidney Freedman tipped his head back against the wooden wall and sighed heavily. His bloodied hands were slack in his lap and he felt like his bones were made out of lead. Muscles he'd forgotten he had were aching and tying themselves into knots that were going to hurt tomorrow. He closed his eyes and began to compose his latest letter to Freud as he sagged into the hard seat. He managed to open an eye at the sound of the door to the surgery swinging open.

Colonel Potter - looking like the walking wounded himself - looked down at him. "You alright there, Sidney?"

"I'm fine, Colonel." Sidney managed to dreg up a smile. "Although I must admit, I don't know _how_ you manage this on a daily basis." He pushed himself upright, wincing at the twinges in his muscles and adding fervently. "I really don't."

Potter smiled and Sidney saw, again, why this man had no real problems with morale or loyalty even here in what was often described in officers' messes as a "disciplinary nightmare". He looked exactly like the grandfather from children's stories, all gruff and stern but with a heart of gold.

"Well, we're certainly grateful to have you. Been mighty tough here, the past few days. Winchester's just back from leave and Hawkeye's been snowed up in that aid station for the past week." The Colonel settled himself with care on the bench beside Sidney, reaching up to pull off the white cap and pull of the mask, dumping both in the laundry bin beside him. "Been getting kinda lonely in there with only BJ for company. Speaking of which, it's too late to get back to HQ tonight so you'll have to bunk up with BJ. Winchester's on post-op for the night."

"Colonel, I may kiss you." Sidney managed with a tired chuckle. "Right now, sharing a bunk with the Swamp's creature population sounds pretty much perfect."

They sat in silence for a moment, blood seeping into the thin cotton scrubs and the clothes underneath. Sidney shook his head and forced himself up onto unsteady legs with a groan. "Well, Paradise calls, Colonel so I will bid you adieu."

"Oh, Sidney?"

"Yes?"

"In the morning, would you mind doing a little ...off the record session?"

"Sure. Can it wait until morning?" Sidney asked, trying to stifle another yawn.

"Yeah, I'd reckon so."

"Good night then, Colonel."

"G'night, Sidney."

It was bitterly cold outside. The harsh mid-winter Korean cold that gnawed away at you and turned your fingers and toes into nubs of icy flesh. He watched his breath mist on the night air and shivered, wishing for his warm bed. The stars glittered overhead and the sky was clear. The tents were dusted with snow. It would have been beautiful if not for the flare of mortars and the thunder of guns in the distance.

The camp itself was almost deserted except for the yawning guard - recognisable even from here as Max Klinger, in a fetching new fur coat. The heels are a tad too red to match. He marches across the icy dirt as smartly as if his on a parade ground, heels clicking on the ice. He waved Sidney by without a challenge or a plea for a section eight - he was too tired, they both were. The usual game of psychiatrist and sane corporal can wait until tomorrow; after some of that softened tar that masquerades itself as coffee in the mess. Sidney totters on towards the Swamp and isn't surprised to see a light still on. He managed to shove the door open on the third try.

BJ was sitting in a cocoon of blankets with the light by his bed on. "Ah, Sidney. Won't you come in?"

"Thank you." Sidney lurched in and collapsed on the nearest bunk - Hawkeye's. "I am surprised you're still up. I can barely keep my eyes open and you've been doing this for days."

"Nah, sleep's over-rated." BJ flashed him a harried smile. "Besides, hallucinations beat the dreams any day."

Sidney flopped over onto his side and looked at the younger man. BJ was scribbling industriously on a pad of paper. "Catching up on paperwork, are you?"

"Nah. Writing to Peg." BJ was looking at the paper and the dim light highlighted the lines along his brow and around his eyes. Sidney studied him for a moment, noting the textbook signs of stress and worry. The surgeon looked up questioningly. "Why do I get the feeling that I've just become a patient?"

Sidney smiled. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It?" BJ shook his head and set down the paper. "What it? I have no it."

"Methinks the surgeon doeth protest too much." Sidney observed mildly, propping his head up on his elbow and looking at the younger man.

BJ huffed in wry amusement. "Sidney, couldja leave the 'shrink' hat at the door? I'm really not in the mood to talk about this."

"Well, you look worried." Sidney observed. "And it's my job to try and help with your worries and your fears."

"I'm not afraid. Well, no more than usual." BJ set down the letter. "Y'know, the fear that I'm never going to get home. The fear that I will go home and my wife and my daughter won't know me. The fear that something will happen to them. The fear that something will happen to the friends I have here."

"The fear that something will happen to Hawkeye?" Sidney interjected quietly. BJ fell silent and nodded. Sidney hesitated before offering again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What's to talk about? Hawk's just being...well, Hawk. Charging off into danger because lives are being lost and if he can't fight the war, he'll fight the deaths." BJ sounded almost bitter as he stared off into space. "He was nearly hit last night. The chopper pilot told us when he flew in the latest batch of wounded. It's too cold and they're running out of supplies. Potter wants to pull them all out but Hawk won't leave the wounded and we can't evac them until the roads open."

"Have you talked to him?" Sidney kept his voice mild, stepping carefully around the barely hidden fear and anger with the ease of years of practice.

"No, we can't get a reliable signal that far." BJ sighed again. "The pilots pass on what they can but that's it."

"You mentioned dreams?" Sidney prodded carefully. He was exhausted but there was something ...off in BJ's voice. The edge of cheer that seemed a little too forced, a little too upbeat to be real. A good psychiatrist would never pass up such an obvious sign of distress and Sidney Freedman was a _very_ good psychiatrist. He was also a very _tired_ psychiatrist ...but that wasn't important at the moment.

"Nothing too serious, just the one recurring one." BJ turned away a little, staring towards Charles' empty bed. He fell quiet for a moment before he began to talk in a soft singsong. "I'm in surgery. We're swamped. The others are all busy and the patient in front of me is in really bad shape. I'm doing my _damnedest_ but he's slipping away. I'm clamping, I'm sewing, I'm trying everything but it's too little, too damn late. He's gone and I'm stepping back. I look down as they take him away...I see his face for the first time..."

"Who is it?" Sidney asked softly.

BJ blinked back tears and turned to look at the psychiatrist. "It's Hawk. There's blood everywhere. It's on the bed, on the floor. Oh god, it's on my hands!"

"BJ! _BJ!_ " Sidney kept his voice down but sharp. The younger man blinked and shook his head as if waking up. "Take it easy. It was just a dream. Easy now."

BJ was still staring in blank horror at his hands. Sidney pushed himself up, exhaustion and stiff muscles forgotten. The younger man was trembling and Sidney reached out to put a hand on the nearest shoulder. BJ jerked back, eyes flying open and Sidney froze. They both remained still, staring at each other with wide eyes until BJ shook his head briskly, breaking the spell and Sidney settled back on heels. He was withing arm's reach of BJ; close but not _too_ close.

" _Goddamn_." The profanity was uncharistic and forceful. "It shouldn't hit me this badly."

"Actually it's not that surprising." Sidney said, putting his conversational foot in the door and praying to a God he didn't always believe in that he was awake enough not to make a total fool of himself. "Subconsciously, Hawkeye is part of your own defence against the dehumanising effects of war. You depend on him for consistency, for a sense of ...well, _stability_ in the chaos that you are forced to deal with on a daily basis here. Hawkeye - simply by being here - helps to keep you from thinking about how horrible war and what it's doing to these boys really is. Now he's gone and you've lost a big part of that defence."

"I don't know..." BJ said doubtfully. "C'mon Sidney, I've never stressed when he's on leave and he's a holy terror when he hits Tokyo for a few days."

"He wasn't in danger - _real_ danger - then." Sidney pointed out gently. "But you've been putting together kids from that aid station all week. You know how bad it is up there and you _don't_ know when he's coming home. Or if he is at all. That's some pretty frightening stuff."

BJ was silent, looking up at him and just for a moment, Sidney could see the fresh-faced young doctor who had arrived in Korea not so long ago looking out over the moustache. He sat back on his heels. He sighed; fighting back a fresh wave of fatigue and trying to coax the right words out of his weary brain. "BJ, you are a family man. I know that, you know that, Hawkeye knows that and I dare say that most of the camp knows that. Family is how you define yourself and since your wife and your daughter are back in the States, you've built up a new family here."

BJ nodded, the shadows hiding his eyes and leaving Sidney to fall back on long ago training and what little parts of his mind were not focused on sleep to try and find the right words. "Would you consider Hawkeye to be important here, not as a surgeon, just as ...Hawkeye?"

"Yeah, of course."

"He's like a member of the family then?"

BJ considered for a moment then nodded. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Sidney leant forward, deliberately invading the empty space between them. "BJ, listen to me. What you are feeling is completely natural and completely expected reaction. You can't keep beating yourself up for it."

"And the dreams will stop?" BJ quirked a doubtful eyebrow and if he hadn't been such a good psychiatrist, Sidney would have rolled his eyes or sighed ...or punched him.

"No. Not while the situation stays the same, but once you recognise the cause..." He half-shrugged. "It won't be _pleasent_ but you should be able to handle it."

BJ sat in silence for a minute and Sidney would have given a lot to be able to read the thoughts behind those dark eyes. The younger man considered everything that had been said. Sidney stayed still, attentive and trying to not to just collapse on to the ground and sleep. When BJ spoke it was with that determined cheerfulness that all M*A*S*H* personnel adopted when face with a bad situation. "Well, that makes sense."

The pen and paper were tucked safely away and he was reaching up to switch off the light before Sidney's sleep-deprived brain kicked in and the psychiatrist stumbled back to to topple gratefully into the cocoon of blankets. The light went out as he burrowed into the pile and offered fevrent thanks to Freud that Hawkeye was so notoriously cold-blooded and had obviously amassed quite the collection of blankets over the years. The sudden darkness was soothing and Sidney let out a weary but immensely satisfied sigh and closed his eyes.

"Sidney?" BJ's whisper sounded too loud in the tranquil night.

"Wasshxqwelf?"

"Thanks, Sidney."

"'R We'come." Sidney mumbled, settling into the cot and feeling the first tingle of warmth spreading under his skin. The soud of slow, even breathing filled the tent as the stars glittered like chips of ice overhead and the snow hardened to frost.

" _...I don't know, Sigmund, what it is that draws me here. The people? The simplicity of the conflict? The thought that here, I am making a real difference to people who will go on to make even greater differences to the lifes of the young, frighted children who come here wounded and lost._

I will go back tomorrow/today and I will tend the patients waiting for me. But already, I know there will come a time in the not-too-distant future when my path will lead me back out to these extraordinary people and this place of miracles.

I'm already looking forward to it.  
Sidney."

FINIS

 


End file.
